The Cradle will Rock
by Bitcheesquared
Summary: John Watson is determined to be a good man and honor the promise he made before man and God. And not even the fact that he's in love with his best friend will sway him from doing the right and proper thing. So it's either lucky or extremely unfortunate for John Watson, that Destiny has other plans for both he and Sherlock Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

Early on a Friday morning, barely two weeks after his Christmas day reconciliation with his pregnant wife; John Watson's life unexpectedly changes again.

He's on his way to the clinic where he works, when he realizes that he's forgotten the keys to the drug cabinet.  
Now normally this would not be an issue; he would just borrow one of his colleague's set of keys. Unfortunately for John, both of the other regular clinic doctors have called in sick and this is in fact the very reason he has agreed to a double shift in the first place.

Cursing under his breath, he quickly dials Mary's phone to ask if she can drop them off on her way to her appointment with her obstetrician.  
When he fails to get through to her he scowls at his phone and grits his teeth.

Forcing the little voice in the back of his head down (the one that lately always seems suspicious of Mary's actions) he sighs and rings the bell for the next stop.

John wishes he could stop thinking this way. He wants to put his suspicion and distrust of his wife away. He needs to find a way to love her again; or at the very least be able to tolerate this marriage that he chose.  
He has a child coming, he reminds himself. He's going to be a father and no matter what he feels or who he feels it for, that fact is something he cannot ever forget.

He jerks out of that particular train of thought as the bus pulls up to the next stop.

Crossing the road to catch another back to his and Mary's flat, John tries very hard to keep his thoughts from wandering to places he doesn't want them to go.

But of course, as soon as he finds himself sitting down to gaze out the window on the homeward bound bus, his mind does exactly that.

It doesn't matter how many times he's gone over it in his head; he still can't understand why Sherlock has gone to so much trouble to make sure that John and Mary stay together. And yes, he knows Sherlock loves him in his own way; he'd more or less confessed that very thing at John's wedding.

What John doesn't understand, is why Sherlock hasn't taken everything that has happened and used it to convince John to come back to Baker Street permanently.

The Sherlock of old had delighted in ruining John's relationships. Demanding and petulant at the best of times, Sherlock had hated it when John was not available to him at the drop of a text; having a girlfriend (as far as Sherlock was concerned) was just another distraction from the all important Work.

And yes; John has to admit that Sherlock has changed. He seems more thoughtful and quieter than the man who jumped from Bart's. More prone to stop and think before speaking his mind. Well, at least when it came to the people closest to him.

To be truthful, it's bothered John more than a little that ever since he'd become engaged to Mary, Sherlock had seemed to become distant in a way he'd never been when they had lived together.

Then of course Mary had shot Sherlock and John's world had abruptly folded, scattering and falling apart like the precarious house of cards that it was.

The life changing epiphany had followed shortly thereafter.

It was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital that it had finally hit home that the man whose blood he was currently wearing; was undisputedly the most important person in his life. That in fact he'd made a dreadful and irredeemable mistake in marrying Mary, when it was obviously Sherlock who was the centre of John's world and always would be.

Of course he'd tried to bury said epiphany under his panicked worry for Sherlock's life. Telling himself later that it was only because he was so afraid he was going to lose him for a second time. He tried to convince himself that the attraction that he'd felt for Sherlock nearly right from the start, had been put aside years ago and that he wasn't gay anyway; that he loved his wife. He reasoned that he loved Sherlock like nobody else he'd ever known; simply because he was like no one else he had ever known.

And at the time he'd thought he'd managed it. He thought he'd got it all under control. But of course all that was before he found out that it was Mary who had pulled the trigger.

Finding out that Mary had been the one to shoot Sherlock, was the most bizarre experience of his life, for more than one reason.

Firstly, the fact that his wife had been the one to shoot Sherlock had made him more coldly furious than he'd ever been. And it was also the final nail in the coffin of his denial. That had been a real eye opener.

Bad metaphor's aside, John knew that what he was feeling was a little off, some might even term it 'a bit not good, but that wouldn't occur to him until well after the second ambulance ride.

He'd understood on some level; that from the moment he stood up from the chair in Lannister Gardens that the rage he felt, far outweighed the upset and betrayal that he should have been feeling. It just hadn't occurred to him to ask himself why at the time.  
Why, Instead of the Lovely warm woman that he had married, John saw only an adversary that had very nearly taken Sherlock from him. Why, instead of being broken hearted over the lie's Mary had obviously told him. He instead found himself angry at

Sherlock's defence of her and hurt by his accusation that John had seen something in her that called to his need for danger.

Instead of being devastated by her betrayal; John found himself aggravated that even with a bullet in him, Sherlock was acting like he and Mary were the best of friends. That everything that had just gone to shit in John's life was merely an inconvenience. A misunderstanding; easily sorted with a chat and a nice warm cuppa. And it burned him to admit it, but part of that was his jealousy of the way that Sherlock had treated her right from the start.

While temporarily back at Baker Street in the months after Sherlock was released from hospital, he'd had time to go over everything that had occurred to him that horrible night; from every possible angle. More than enough time to turn over and examine his thoughts and reactions and to admit (at least to himself) that he really had rather managed to muck up his life.

It was Sherlocks' continued intent to forgive and forget and his encouragement for John to do the same that had finally made John admit what he hadn't wanted to.

John did not want to forgive her, because he loved Sherlock more than he'd ever loved her and not even the baby she was carrying could change the way he felt.

That of course led to the realization that if what he'd felt for Mary was obviously not unconditional, then he'd clearly married her for all the wrong reasons.

So John had sat down and taken a good long hard look at himself and asked what had attracted him to Mary Morstan in the first place. Had he subconsciously seen something beyond what was on the surface? Was Sherlock right?

It had taken him some heavy soul searching and repeated combing over his memories of his and Mary's every interaction, but in the end John was relieved to find that for once in his life, it seemed that Sherlock Holmes had got something wrong.

John knew that he loved the thrill of dangerous things; that he was at his most alive when his heart pounded with the thrill of the chase. He'd been barely coping with his life when he'd first stumbled into Sherlock's world and for the eighteen months that they'd lived together, he'd never felt more needed or more alive.

But then Sherlock had jumped from the roof at Bart's and John's world had imploded.

Losing Sherlock was the hardest thing John had ever had to endure and it had taken until his relationship with Mary, for John to finally start to except that Sherlock was really gone.

John had known somewhere deep down inside, that what he'd felt for Sherlock Holmes far exceeded the emotions that one felt for a flatmate, or even a best friend. But after Sherlock jumped, John had deliberately shut away all the what if's and might have beens. His grief over Sherlocks' loss was already overwhelming. How much worse would it have become, if he'd dragged out all the confused desires and regrets that he'd kept hidden from both himself and Sherlock.

So aside from his one lonely emotional outburst at Sherlocks' grave, John did the only thing he could do to get through his loss. He took a leaf out of Sherlocks' book and tried to delete everything that wasn't about his respect and friendship for the other man.

Of course; Sherlock could have told him that feelings were the one thing that could never be deleted. Still; John somehow managed to get through the following years without thinking about what he'd buried. The constant guilt over Sherlocks' death more than enough to keep him from searching for reasons to feel worse. And by the time Mary had come in to his life, Johns' walls of self denial were firmly set.

Looking back as he sat on the bus, he remembered how grateful he'd felt for her undemanding company; how lovely it had been to be with someone who didn't pry or ask questions about the famous detective.  
And it also didn't hurt, that her irreverent and often slightly off sense of humour had kept John amused in a way he hadn't felt since giggling at crime scenes with Sherlock.

Ultimately what started out as gratitude had slowly blossomed into a warm and comfortable love. And John found himself thinking less about the grief of Sherlocks loss and more about the good times that he had spent with the other man.  
Eventually opening up and telling Mary about Sherlock, had seemed to be the last missing piece in his long process of grieving. He'd thought that he'd finally reached the stage of acceptance; that his grief, if not completely gone, was at last becoming bearable.

In the month that led up to his proposal to Mary, John found himself feeling lighter than he had in years.

Then in one fell swoop, it had all came apart with the return of Sherlock Holmes.

The rage and hurt he'd felt at Sherlocks deception, was outside of any experience that he'd ever had. Never in his life had he been so torn apart by his own emotions. Grief he'd dealt with and understood; it was a natural part of losing a loved one. But John had no frame of reference for any of his emotional responses to Sherlocks return.

It was the most confusing time of his life.

On the one hand; he hated Sherlock for letting him grieve and lying to him for all the time he'd been absent. But on the other he was fiercely joyful that his friend had returned. Then there was the agonizing knowledge, that Sherlock hadn't cared enough for him to realize what his death might do to the only friend he had. And then there was his rage at the blithe and thoughtless way he'd reappeared; just when John had finally got his life to a point where moving on didn't feel like a betrayal.

His physical need to hurt Sherlock had shocked even himself and the fact that the urge was still there weeks later had troubled John, more than he cared to admit.

But when it really came down to it the thing that John really couldn't deal with; was the absolute cloying sense of sadness and disappointment that he experienced every time he thought of how easy it had been for Sherlock to just walk away from their life.

Even though he'd forgiven Sherlock by the time the wedding happened, it still didn't change his wariness of the other man and if he was being honest with himself, it wasn't until his best man speech that John had even stopped to consider that Sherlocks feelings might be a lot more complicated than John had given him credit for.

And of course, by then it was far too late.

And now he'd circled back around to the beginning.

He was going to be a father and his wife was a lying former assassin who he didn't trust. And to top it off, he was pretty sure he was in love with his best friend; the friend that had done everything in his power; up to and including murder, to ensure his marriage to said lying assassin could continue.

What was his life?

There had been a moment at his wedding just after Sherlock had played the violin piece he'd written, where for a brief instant he'd thought he'd seen something in Sherlocks expression. A sadness and longing, which had made John's heart, leap in his chest. But when Sherlock had urged him and Mary to take to the dance floor only moments later, John told himself he was imagining things. And when Sherlock had grinned at his joke, John deliberately pushed the incident out of his mind, all the while berating himself for clearly drinking far too much champagne.

All this time later and even after everything Sherlock had done for him, John still couldn't bring himself to think about the expression he thought he'd seen on Sherlock's face the night of Johns wedding.  
Because even though Sherlock undoubtedly loved John Watson, John knew that the love he felt for Sherlock Holmes was decidedly not the platonic love that Sherlock felt for him.

In the months after Sherlocks shooting there was a part of John that had watched and hoped (largely fueled by that one longing look?) that perhaps, now that John had moved back to Baker Street, Sherlock might show that his feelings went beyond the friendship they had known before Sherlocks fall.

John's hopes were quickly dashed however, when Sherlock continually encouraged John to forgive Mary, even going so far as to tell John, that once John was back with her he would remember how much he loved her and be able to put everything else behind them.

No. It was very clear to John that as much as Sherlock valued his friendship and enjoyed his company, he was very not interested in John being more than that.

Sherlock had said right from the start that he was Married to his work and the relationships were not his area, so John had no one else but himself to blame if he'd gotten his hopes up.

He'd managed to live with Sherlock for eighteen months; successfully lying to himself and everyone in his life about his feelings. Now with one look, that was most likely deeply buried wishful thinking on John's part, he couldn't hold back everything he'd managed to suppress for well over four years.

So now he was stuck in a marriage that he resented with a woman he no longer trusted and about to become a father to a child he wasn't even sure he wanted.  
The last was the part was the thing that troubled him the most, if he was being honest. After all, it wasn't the child's fault; she had no say in her conception and the fact that her parents' marriage was less than ideal, was in no way her responsibility.

Unfortunately it did.

He'd tried to be excited about becoming a father; something he'd never given much thought to before his wedding. But the shameful truth was that his daughter hadn't even been born yet and he was already worried that she was the only thing that was keeping him in his marriage. Along with that came the fear that he would end up like his own father; resenting her because of that very same fact.

Sometimes he felt just like the mice Sherlock used in his experiments. It was like he was trapped in a maze and every time he thought he'd found a clear path, it suddenly closed, leaving him breathless claustrophobic and unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Shaking his head to clear his troubled thoughts, John rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus on the world outside the windows of the bus and the distance he'd left to travel.

He was surprised to see that he was only a stop away from the flat that he and Mary shared and at the same time, troubled by the thought that even now he still didn't think of the flat as home.

Opening the door to the flat he called out Mary's name on the oft chance she hadn't left for her appointment. When she didn't answer he found himself once again wondering why she'd failed to answer her phone when she was so quick to always insist that he make sure his phone was charged and on him in at all times.

Shrugging off his useless pondering, John moved to the bedroom and retrieved the forgotten keys.  
He'd just slid the draw shut and was in the process of pocketing the keys, when the distinctive chime of Mary's phone rang out indicating that she had a text.

Trying not to grind his teeth in resentment, John did his best not to think about how angry she would have been if it was him that had forgotten his phone.

Entering the bathroom he spotted his wife's phone half covered by a hand towel on the basin.

She'd obviously been in a rush to get to her appointment and somehow managed to miss the fact that her phone had been left behind.

It wasn't that surprising when he thought about it. Mary made a point of never taking her phone into the loo, not after an incident years ago that involved soap in the eyes and a full sink of water.

Then there was the whole pregnancy brain thing that he was not allowed to bring up; under pain of sleeping on the couch. She'd really gone off the one time he'd mentioned it just after they'd confirmed the pregnancy and he'd been wary ever since. Though these days, sleeping on the couch seemed a lot more attractive than it should have been.

Picking up her phone he couldn't help glancing at the text alert icon.

The John Watson that had married Mary Morstan would never have dreamed of violating his wife's privacy.

But now as John studied the phone in his hand, it was the John Watson that was married to someone who's initials AGRA were the only real truth he knew about the woman he'd wed. And that John (The one that Sherlock would have recognized) decided it was time he did a little snooping for his own piece of mind if nothing else.

He'd been honest with Mary when He'd thrown the usb into the fire that day at Sherlock's parents, but that was before Sherlock had shot Magnusson to protect Mary. Before he'd realized that the woman he'd married, didn't have one ounce of gratitude in her for all the things Sherlock had done to preserve her marriage and quite possibly her freedom.

She hadn't even thanked him that day at the airfield and had instead seemed rather annoyed when he was recalled barely minutes into his flight. A flight that would have led to what Mycroft termed as a lengthy and difficult mission.  
With Moriarty's supposed return he'd hardly seen Sherlock since that day, but it still hadn't stopped Mary from making several careless and offhand remarks about cats with nine lives and Sherlock having the luck of the devil.

Her comments at the time had sent a fission of something very like dread up his spine, but she'd quickly laughed it off when John asked her what she meant. Then she'd changed the subject and John had been left with the feeling that somehow he'd missed something important, but he couldn't for the life of him work out what.

So yeah, maybe he'd been too quick to dismiss who'd she'd been. Too quick to destroy the only real truth that she had ever offered willingly.

Seconds later John found himself sitting dazedly on the edge of his bed with no memory of walking from bath to bedroom.

Mary's mobile phone was clutched in his hand, the knuckles of which were white from the force of pressure that he was holding on to it with.

He stared down at the text on the small screen and tried very hard not to throw it at the nearest wall.

My darling Mary  
Boss unhappy  
with ur handling of Sherlock's pet  
marriage should b terminated by now  
Magnusson no longer a threat  
past time u came in.  
Watson outlived usefulness  
do what you were paid to do.  
I good girl  
boss might let you live  
after the kid is born.  
If Holmes's find out identity of brat  
before the time is right  
boss will make ur skin=shoes  
get a move on and end ur marriage  
right the fuck now  
Cheers David

Seconds later a second text came in.

Ps Dnt think of running.  
Sherlocks kid important  
U R expendable


	2. All The Kings Horses

John stared at the phone in his hands for a good ten minutes.

He understood the words he'd just read; it was the context that his brain seemed to be having the problem with.

Yeah... Okay.  
He got the part where Mary was a lying bitch who had married him as some sort of long term plot. And that the child he'd been so concerned that he'd be a bad father to, was in fact, not actually his. It was the part that seemed to imply that the baby was Sherlock's that seemed to be his stumbling block.

How the fuck had that even happened?

John's mind immediately went where he very much didn't need it going. Just the mental imagery of his wife and Sherlock locked in anything even resembling passion, was enough to make his stomach turn over in disgust.

His mind stuttered in disbelief, even as he recalled all the times Sherlock had defended Mary. The times they'd seemed extra chummy? The way Sherlock treated her far better than any other of John's previous girlfriends. His determination to make sure that John didn't leave her or the baby, even after she'd shot and nearly killed him.

A horrible thought popped into his head.

Had the real reason she had shot Sherlock been because she was carrying his child; was she afraid he'd tell John?

Had Mary and Sherlock really had some tawdry affair, and inadvertently conceived a child?

When would this even have happened? And more to the point; why would a man who had never seemed even remotely interested in any sort of sexual relationship, suddenly decide that sleeping with his best friends fiancé was the thing to do.

Well that isn't strictly true; a nasty little voice whispered in the back of his mind. He has been interested before, just not in you.

What about Irene Adler? He seemed pretty interested in her. And then there was that whole thing with Janine?

Maybe all that stuff she told the papers about him was true. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence that Mary shot him the same night John had told her that Janine and Sherlock were seeing each other?

John felt his stomach churn, as he remembered the way Mary had seemed so accepting of Sherlock when they first met, and yet when she and John had come back from their honeymoon, she'd suddenly turned mocking and more than a bit contemptuous, practically overnight.

My God... It wasn't possible... was it?

No. He refused to believe it. Sherlock was his friend, he wouldn't, he couldn't do something as cold as what John was thinking.

John ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed wildly at his face in an effort to shake himself loose from his thoughts.  
But the thoughts refused to leave him, as did his doubts.

Sherlock had been absent from John's life for a very long time, and since coming back some of his actions at times were those of someone John nearly didn't recognize. Case in point; he'd shot Magnusson. The Sherlock he'd known before his fall from Barts would have never taken a life; not for something that wasn't a matter of life or death at the very least.

Did he really know Sherlock Holmes, or was he so blinded by the memory of the man he'd loved that he'd refused to see that the Sherlock he'd known no longer existed.  
Had Sherlocks' hunting down and the destruction of Moriarty's web remade him into a different person? One that was far closer to the sociopath that he'd always claimed to be.

John was rudely shaken from his thoughts when his own mobile phone started to ring.

Pulling it out of his pocket and looking down at the caller id he saw a vaguely familiar number come up on the screen. Still shaken by his thought's, it took him a moment to recognize that the number displayed on his phone was that of the clinic where he worked.  
He was even more startled when he noted how much time had gone by since first entering the flat.

Cursing under his breath he pushed his worry aside and deliberately ignored the call.

Right then... he had to get out of here before Mary noticed that her phone was missing.

After deciding that and tucking his own phone away, he wrenched the back off Mary's and removed the sim card just to be safe.

He couldn't be sure that she would head straight for the clinic after her appointment, but he was damn sure that if she did notice the phone's absence he really didn't want to be at the flat.  
If he caught a cab now, he might just be lucky enough to get to the clinic before she discovered he hadn't arrived on time for his shift. And if he was extra lucky she might also assume that her phone had been lost in her morning travels.

Yeah, he should be so lucky.

John felt jittery and knew it was his body's reaction to shock, but he also knew he didn't have time for any more wallowing. He had to get out of the flat before she got back, and as much as he hated it, he'd have to go to work and act completely normal.

He wasn't sure what the phrase 'terminate the marriage' meant, but he sincerely doubted that David was talking about divorce.

And above all else, he had to decide what to do next.

He knew he would have to talk to Sherlock at some point as well, but at the moment he didn't think he could face the other man without either breaking down, or punching the bloody fuck out of him.

And if his earlier thought's hadn't been torment enough, just the fact that it was Sherlock he was more torn up about, rather than his wife and her poisonous actions...well that really said it all, didn't it.

He had to laugh. Just this morning, he'd been torn with guilt because he couldn't stop thinking about his feelings for Sherlock. And now it seemed that guilt was the last thing he should be feeling, for either of them.

Fuck it. Just get through the day. You were a soldier and a doctor on the front lines, how hard can it be to get through one day.

Do your fucking job and don't think about it.

Tonight though... well tonight he was going to have a conversation with a certain consulting detective. And if he didn't like the answers... well he'd just have to see, he supposed.

Thirty minutes later John finally made it into the clinic.

Unfortunately for John, Mary had beaten him there.

He'd deliberately ignored all calls to his phone on the way in, worried about what he'd say if it was her on the other end.

He really wasn't sure he could give a believable performance of the loving husband, not when his blood was still boiling over the text on her phone.

Now as his eyes met hers, he had to forcibly remind himself not to check on the location of her phone in the pocket of his coat.

He smiled and tried to seem happy to see her, while at the same time attempting to gauge if she had any idea that he knew the truth about their marriage, and the baby she was carrying.

"Hey love, what a nice surprise. Everything all right with the little one?" he asked leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

She smiled up at him, and John felt a shiver of expectation as he waited for her response.

"Everything's fine sweetheart, Doc said everything looks good so don't worry. I just finished a little early because of a cancellation, and I wanted to see if we were still on for lunch? I must have left my phone at home this morning, silly me. Thought I'd just nip by before heading home in case you'd tried to call. You're awfully late darling, was there a hold up on the tube?"

She peered up at him, her gaze guileless, and John immediately flashed back to a lecture that Sherlock had given him after a particularly convoluted case, on what he'd termed; the art of lying.

According to Sherlock, the best liars often got away with their deceptions because the really good ones stuck to as close to the truth as possible.  
He'd also gone on to explain; that if you were going to tell an untruth it was best to hide it by minimizing the details, so as not to get caught out by some outside factor or a lapse in memory.

Ironically; considering the current circumstances and the two people involved, John now found himself following this advice.

He scratched the back of his head and did his best to look sheepish.

"Yeah suppose I am a bit late. I got nearly the whole way here, and realized I'd forgotten the bloody keys to the drug cabinet. Had to turn around and go home to get them, and then got caught in rush hour of course." He shook his head and tried to look annoyed rather than panicked.

He knew he was a crap liar at best, and the woman he'd married was a very observant person.

She huffed out a laugh and gave him a fond smile.

"And you think I'm forgetful you great duffer. Well I suppose we make quite the pair really, what with me forgetting my phone and you the keys." She frowned and looked thoughtful.

"I don't suppose you saw my phone when you popped home, I can't think how I managed to forget it, really."

John stilled internally, as the expression in her eyes flickered with some emotion he couldn't read.

He paused before answering, as he would have if he really was trying to remember whether he'd seen her phone when he'd gone back to the flat.

"Well...I don't recall seeing it in the bedroom, but I was in a bit of a hurry." He offered. "Don't worry love; I'm sure it will turn up. You probably had one of those moments that I'm not allowed to mention... seems to be the day for being a bit absentminded." He grinned, hoping his comment would annoy her just enough to derail any suspicion.

She frowned again before sighing, and John felt himself relax for the first time since he'd arrived at work.

"You're probably right; I expect I left in the kitchen or something." She allowed dismissively, before changing the subject.

"So lunch today?"

He smiled apologetically; relaxing internally as he made his very real excuses. The last thing he wanted to do was spend time in his wife's presence. Especially not after what he'd just found out.

"Sorry Love, afraid I can't today. Part of the reason I went home for the keys actually. Both Patel and Clarke are out sick, so it's just me on. Raincheck though? Next week? We could try that new place that's just opened up on the high street; make a real date of it?" He studied her expression; keeping his own carefully pleasant, he did his best to keep what he felt from surfacing and giving away just how 'not happy' he really was.

So far she had seemed mollified by his words, but it didn't stop him wondering if she'd gone home for her phone first; that perhaps all her casual questions had been an attempt to catch him out in a lie.

Well he was sure he'd find out, one way or the other.

Mindful of the role that he was playing, he waited for her to answer; doing his best to seem like the contented husband and expectant father.

"That would be lovely John, assuming our daughter doesn't decide to make an early entrance. The doc did say everything looks fine, but he seemed to think she might turn up any day now."

John chuckled and squeezed her hand, while inside his stomach was roiling with a combination of nerves and revulsion.

"Be just like a Watson to be early to the party yeah. Both Harry and I came early, according to mum. Bloody embarrassing for mum the way she told it. Harry decided to make her appearance in the middle of Bainbridges on a Saturday arvo. Caused quite a fuss."

He laughed again.

"Course, I was much less trouble... it was the pub for me and fortunately, unlike Harry, I actually waited to arrive until she got to the hospital."

He watched her face carefully as he spoke, wondering if she'd slip and give a hint of the truth, if there might be a flicker of guilt brought about by his words.

"God John. Perish the bloody thought." She huffed scoldingly. She swatted his hand lightly as she edged forward in her seat in preparation of rising.

"Well, best be off then. I was supposed to meet some of the girls for afternoon tea later, so I expect I'll be a bit late tonight. You know how we girls do love to gossip." She offered with a grin.

Carefully shielding his relief at her words, John reached down and helped her up from the chair she'd occupied while waiting for him. Kissing her lightly on the cheek, he guided her towards the clinic doors.

"Give us a ring or a text when you find your phone. I might pop round to Baker Street after work if you're going to be late. Bit concerned, Sherlock hasn't been in touch about the M situation." He offered with a deliberately concerned frown.

"I'll text you if I get held up, but I should be home by nine at the latest. And don't forget to take the phone with you this time." He added in a teasing manner.

Something in Mary's eyes flickered at the mention of Sherlock's name, and just for a split second John found himself hard pressed to keep up his casual cheerfulness in the face of his wife's perfidy.

She smiled at him.

"Will do sweetie." She agreed, blowing him a playful kiss.

John's smile melted away the moment she disappeared out the door and he found himself counting to ten, as his rage surged up and threatened to choke him.

What a lying cheating cow he'd married. And a far better actress than he'd given her credit for.

Less than an hour later, John got the call he'd been half expecting. His performance might not have won him a Bafta, but he prayed it was just good enough to keep him breathing a little while longer.

When she'd told him about the apparent loss of her phone, he'd been sympathetic with just the right amount of annoyed at the expense that she'd expect. And then suitably apologetic when she in turn reminded him of the two times his phone had been destroyed; both while on cases with Sherlock.

All in all, he thought he'd done a pretty good job at appearing clueless. And considering that Mary must think that it was his default setting anyway, he thought he might be in the clear.

Of course, that would last as long as it took for her to get a new phone, and for David to send another text. After that, all bets were off.

Now he just had to get through the rest of his day and work out what he was going to say to Sherlock.

It was the bit that came after his talk with Sherlock that he wasn't clear about.

Six o'clock that evening saw John Watson alighting from a cab at his former address; Two twenty one b Baker Street. Pausing outside the door to the flat, John took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves.

He didn't hold out much hope that Sherlock wouldn't read him like a bloody newspaper, but he didn't want to face him without at least some element of calm on his side.

In truth; John was actually a lot calmer than he'd been earlier after reading the text on his wife's phone.

Fact; John Watson had always believed in Sherlock Holmes. So if faking his death and disappearing for three years hadn't shaken that belief, then he refused to let one text from his lying wife's dodgy ex do it.

Sherlock was his friend, and John was going to choose to believe that the man he'd lived with and saved more than once, was not capable of hurting him in that way. And until he heard differently, he was going to keep calm and carry on in true British form.

Resolve firmly in place, John rang the buzzer and waited.

When the door opened to Mrs Hudson's wary gaze, John found himself half relieved that it wasn't Sherlock. As much as he had decided to trust in his friend, he would very much prefer having this particular conversation in private. And to be honest, John wasn't at all sure he would have been able to wait until they got upstairs to have it.

He smiled at Mrs Hudson.

"Hello Mrs Hudson, is his nibs in? I was..."

"Oh John dear, I'm afraid this isn't a good time." She cut in apologetically. "Mycroft is here and they seem frightfully busy. I was told to inform you that he's not taking visitors at the moment, no exceptions."

John scowled.

"First up, I'm not a bloody visitor, I'm his best friend, and secondly Mrs Hudson, if his lordship wants' me to bugger off he can come down here and tell me himself, the great git."

He shook his head and tried reign in his temper. There was no use going off at Mrs Hudson, it wasn't her fault Sherlock was being an arse.

"Sorry...Bleeding cheek, sending you down, the lazy cock. And Mycroft can go sod himself, if you'll pardon the language. It's not like I don't know what they are up to, the pair of nobs." He smiled his own apology.

"Look sorry, I'm just going to go up there and tell them you tried and failed to send me off. I need to talk to Sherlock and unfortunately it can't be put off until it's convenient."

Mrs Hudson shot a worried look towards the stairs, but she did step back and allow John entrance.

"Oh dear, he's been in such a mood lately John, but I suppose It won't hurt if you pop up for a quick visit. Just mind that I did warn you and come by before you leave, I've some lovely scones that are just about done and some of that blackberry jam that you like." She patted his hand absentmindedly and with a last glance towards the upstairs flat she disappeared into her own.

John grimaced.

Well something was obviously up. It wasn't like Mrs Hudson to seem so cowed and there had been genuine concern in her eyes, though John wasn't sure who it was for.

Sighing heavily, he straightened his spine and headed up.

Approaching the door of his old flat, John was startled to hear raised voices.

Sherlock yelling at his brother was not entirely without precedence, however Mycroft's raised voice was not something John had ever experienced and with a brother as trying as Sherlock, that was no small feat of control.

John paused; deciding that a bit of eavesdropping might just be in order. After all, anything that had Mycroft Holmes angry enough to drop his ice man facade was bound to be of interest.

"Oh do calm down Mycroft. I have told you more than once, that I confirmed it myself. Moriarty is very much a corpse, and whoever has set up the latest game, it is most definitely not James Moriarty.

There was a huff and an exaggerated sigh.

"Sherlock you are not listening to me. The broadcast may not prove that Moriarty survived, but it does suggest there is a deeper level of play involved than we first suspected. Your mission to Serbia was not common knowledge, and I think that even you would admit that the timing of it was highly suspect."

John leaned closer to the door; straining to hear more as Mycroft's tone dropped back to normal levels, becoming more like the reasonable man that he worked so hard to project to the world.

"Moriarty was a master at what he did, and we cannot simply rule out the possibility that he too faked his demise. You, who had the bare minimum of resources and very little time to plan, managed to do it; and to continue the farce for a considerable amount of time thereafter. Why is it so hard to conceive that a man with Moriarty's skills and backing could do the same?"

"God, you are insufferable." Sherlock huffed. "Listen to me brother mine, James Moriarty is dead. Molly herself did the autopsy and substituted his body for mine. He is not coming back and I find your unnecessary paranoia tiresome in the extreme. Yes I will admit that on the surface, this seems without a doubt to be Moriarty, but what you seem unable to grasp is that whoever orchestrated this is not playing the same game at all."

John could hear the snarl of frustration in Sherlock's voice, and he found himself grinning as he pictured the expression he must be directing towards his brother.

"Yes the tape and the taunting were designed to keep me from the mission; that much is obvious. But you were not on Bart's roof that last day brother dear. James Moriarty, while undoubtedly brilliant was also quite possibly clinically insane, and consequentially quite easily bored. He would not have the patience for such a long game. Especially not one that involved the destruction of the bulk of his criminal network."

As he waited with baited breath to hear Mycroft's reply, John could practically hear the eye roll accompanying Sherlock's words.

He was doomed to disappointment, when instead of yet another attempt to reason with Sherlock, Mycroft's voice was raised for an entirely different reason.

"Doctor Watson, perhaps you would like to join us and give your opinion on the matter. I rather thought lurking was more Sherlock's raison'de entre, but it appears that as with most things, he has managed to corrupt even you."

"Oh for goodness sake... "Sherlock snarled.

He threw the door open and scowled at John.

"Really John, I expected better of you than to be caught snooping by Mycroft of all people."

He smirked at John's deliberately exaggerated eye roll before stepping back to let him pass.

"Well if certain people bothered to let other people know what the actual hell is going on, then there wouldn't have been a need for lurking snooping or any other form of covert spying, now would there".

His statement was met by two eerily similar raised eyebrows, and John found himself once again trying to control his temper.

"Okay, no use pretending I didn't hear some of that, so what the bloody hell is going on? Is Moriarty dead or not?"

The simultaneous yes and no that he received was rather comical, but the obvious tension between the two brothers was far from amusing.

"Right" John sighed. "Well that clears things right up."

His mouth turned down as he met Sherlock's angry look, and he belatedly remembered the actual reason for his visit.

"Look Mycroft, if you two can't even agree on something as simple as the pricks death; then maybe it's time you were off. I need to speak to Sherlock, and frankly I don't feel like standing around watching you two stubborn arses argue all night. So how about you go and do your super spy thing, and maybe make absolutely sure that all your ducks are in a row, and then you and Sherlock can continue yelling at each other tomorrow."

Sherlock directed a smirk at his brother. It was his... that's telling you grin, and John couldn't help the snort of amusement at the air of smugness that was radiating from the detective.

Honestly; sometimes he really did act all of five years old.

Mycroft's eyes flitted the length of John's body, and a brief frown crossed his face. And though whatever he deduced from his inspection wasn't readily apparent; at least not to John, he did rise from his perch on John's chair to give a brief nod, before turning to face his brother.

"Just so Doctor Watson, then I will leave you to try and talk some sense into my brother. He is treating this far too lightly in my opinion. Perhaps you will have better luck in persuading him than I. Good day John, Sherlock."

Sherlock's glare didn't leave his brothers back as he left the flat, and John winced internally at the expression on the detectives face when he slammed the door behind his brother.

"Bloody Mycroft and his tedious theories." He muttered. Sherlock turned back to face John, his mouth turning up in a derisive smirk.

"He claims I am the dramatic one in the family, but his obsession with this most recent business, rather effectively decries that particular claim. He's done nothing but witter on about Moriarty ever since we left the tarmac." He offered disgustedly.

His expression softened as he met John's gaze.

"Regardless of what I may have indicated earlier to Mrs Hudson, I must at least thank you for driving Mycroft off, even if it's only for an hour or two. He's been absolutely obsessed with the idea that... well you know, you heard him. "

Sherlock sighed heavily and with a shake of his head he swept past John and headed for the kitchen.

"Tea?" he inquired, reaching for the kettle.

John is abruptly hit with two very separate and opposing emotions. One is a wave of homesickness that makes the back of his eyes burn with strain, and the other is a renewed rush of anger at the man in front of him.

"Sherlock, we need to talk."

Sherlock's hand stilled on the kettle and John felt his heart lurch in his chest as Sherlock raised his eyes to meet his John's.

The wariness in his friends' expression immediately sets off alarm bells in John's head, and he had to fight very hard to remain calm as he watched the normally unflappable Sherlock Holmes swallow heavily, before deliberately averting his gaze.

"I suppose it was only a matter of time, but I had hoped that you would leave well enough alone." The words were a low rasp that John barely caught, but John felt his stomach drop down to his shoes all the same.

He moved towards Sherlock hesitantly. Part of him wanted to tell the other man that he'd changed his mind; that they could talk later, that he'd love a cuppa and maybe some Thai from around the corner. The other part was a hard pulsing knot of emotion that just wanted to have it out and done with.

He reached for Sherlock's arm, but before he had a chance to make contact Sherlock slid away and backed up against the kitchen cupboards.

"Don't". Sherlock ordered.

He wrapped both arms around himself; his body language along with his one word entirely defensive, and John felt something in his heart strain as if to break.

John took another step and Sherlock flinched and it was the final straw.

"Oh my God... It's true... isn't it"? John gasped.

"How could you do this to me Sherlock? I thought we were friends. Why would you keep something like this from me? Were you afraid to tell me or did you just get off on the thought of fooling me yet again?"

John's teeth were gritted with anger as he spat his questions at Sherlock and his fists curled so tightly that his nails were cutting into his own palms.

"Fuck! You and Mary must have been laughing behind my back this whole time. Poor clueless John and his tiny brain will never work it out, yeah. Well fuck you both Sherlock Holmes... I know now, so you better explain to me how the hell it happened before I knock your teeth down your throat." He barked out.

Sherlock raised his stricken gaze to John's, and for the first time since he'd set eyes on him in Barts lab all those years ago John was shocked to see pain and anguish barred, without any attempts to mask it.

"I am deeply sorry that I have upset you John, but I did not intend for it to happen..."

"Well I bloody well should hope not!" John spat.

"I didn't think even you would be that much of a prick. But it doesn't really matter whether you intended it, does it? It still bloody happened."

Sherlock frowned at his words before speaking.

"John, I understand that you may find my feelings abhorrent, but I fail to see why you are being unnecessarily cruel. I did not think that you would welcome the news, but I had thought that you would be a little more understanding considering your family situation. I apologize if I have offended you. I can only promise that I will not inflict my presence upon you again after tonight, and since I so obviously disgust you, I can but assume you will be relieved to hear it."

It was John's turn to frown.

Sherlock's tone and demeanor was not what one would expect to find in a man that had just been confronted with cuckolding one's best friend. The language was formal and stilted, but there was a layer of hurt acceptance that was very much out of context for the conversation that they were having.

Were they even having the same conversation?

He shook his head as though to clear it, then he deliberately took a good hard look at his friend.

Sherlock was flushed and his body language was defensive. Not the type of defensive that came from guilt, but the type that came from embarrassment and hurt.

Oh.

Okay they were obviously not talking about Sherlock sleeping with John's wife... so what the hell had Sherlock so upset?

And John could see it now. Sherlock Holmes was really very upset. He was also on the verge of tears and barely holding his own anger and hurt in check.

Well Fuck.

John ran a hand over his face and shook his head again.

"Right then... Look Sherlock, I think we've got our wires crossed somewhere. What the bloody hell are you on about because I'm a bit lost mate."

He folded his arms and gave the other man his best I am a soldier and a doctor with infinite patience stare, and waited for Sherlock to answer.

Sherlock's eyes widened and much to John's complete consternation he was then treated to seeing Sherlock pale before blushing a shade of red that John hadn't known he was capable of.

Rather than reassure John, Sherlock's state only alarmed him further.

What on earth could Sherlock be hiding that would cause such a reaction?

John licked his lips nervously, and when Sherlocks gaze zeroed in on his mouth, he felt his own face flush as his heart leapt in his chest with a sudden unexpected rush of hopeful understanding.

Rewinding Sherlock's part of the conversation in his head, John zeroed in on the other mans statement about John's reactions to his feelings and he frowned with concerned realization.

"Sherlock... What did you mean when you said that I might find your feelings abhorrent? What feelings are we talking about?"

As his gaze met Sherlock's, John found himself suddenly alive in a way he hadn't felt in years.

It was the same feeling he got after a particularly brilliant case; one that usually ended in a frantic chase, the two of them giggling like mad as they made their way up the seventeen steps to their flat.

His heart pounded, and for the first time since he'd read the text on Mary's phone, John was absolutely positive that Sherlock Holmes did not sleep with his wife.

"John I..."

Sherlock trailed off and John found himself freezing at the suddenly resolute look on his best friends face.

He was still frozen, when Sherlock moved forward sans any of his usual customary grace and without hesitation, dipped his head down and took John's mouth in a somewhat clumsy but passionate kiss.

Notes: 


	3. A Tale as Old as Time

When Sherlocks lips met his something inside John let out a victorious whoop, even as all thoughts beside the feel of Sherlock's mouth on his fled.

Sherlock Holmes was not a sentimental man and even though he had once proclaimed that sex did not alarm him, John had often wondered if Sherlock had ever had an encounter that involved anything more than casual flirting for a case.

He got his answer with Sherlock's kiss.

Sherlock kissed like a man that very much wanted to kiss someone, but was not really sure how to go about it. It wasn't bad by any means, but it was hesitant and unpractised and John knew instinctively that the kiss that they were sharing was quite likely the first kiss that Sherlock had ever actively participated in; that wasn't case related.  
There was a yearning sort of desperation in the way he was breathing into John's mouth and a hesitance in the way he opened his own mouth against John's.  
He obviously wanted to kiss John, he just didn't seem very confident in doing it. So John did the only thing he could, he took control.

His hands; that up till now had been hanging uselessly by his side, slid up and into Sherlock's glossy hair; John carefully but firmly manoeuvring the much taller man, until his mouth was better aligned with his own.

He parted his own lips and gently sucked at Sherlock's lower one until the man in his arms got the message and opened his mouth again, tentatively meeting Johns questing tongue with his own.  
Happy with the new positioning, John let his hands slide from Sherlock's hair as he gathered the lanky detectives form closer to his own. His hands swept down the long back, tightening, even as he felt Sherlock relax into the kiss.

Sherlock moaned, his breath hitching as John deliberately brushed his rapidly hardening erection against the others thigh.

The moan turned into a groan; when encouraged by Sherlock's verbal clues, John slid a hand down to brush over the now obvious bulge in the detectives' trousers.

John's mouth left his; the urge to explore the long expanse of neck that had tempted him for years; finally overcoming him. First he sucked a dark bruise onto the skin just below his jaw and then he slid his mouth slowly downwards until his nose was nestled in the hollow of Sherlock's collarbone. Inhaling deeply, he licked and sucked his way across to the opposite side and then back up to take possession of the taller mans mouth once again.

Long minutes seemed to pass before John finally remembered that as wonderful as kissing Sherlock was; it would perhaps be even better if they talked about things before they got too carried away.

Sherlock was making the most delicious sounds and his body was hard and urgent against John's equally needy form. But John knew that as much as he wanted to drag Sherlock off to his room and live out all his fantasy's of what he'd like to do to the younger man, now was not really the time to get distracted. Not with everything he'd learned today.

John needed for them to be on the same page; he needed to understand what Sherlock wanted from him, to make him understand that the kiss they were now sharing was everything to John. That if they took this further and Sherlock changed his mind it would be the end for John. He had to know without any doubt where he stood with the man in his arms.

Wrenching his mouth away from Sherlock's took every bit of the last of his willpower and the plaintive noise of disagreement that Sherlock made didn't help his resolve to talk.

God! He really really wanted to take Sherlock to bed.

"Sherlock, wait." He managed to gasp out.

Sherlock immediately stiffened in his arms and moved as if to pull away, but John was having none of that. There had been far too many stupid misunderstandings for one day; there was no way he was going to let Sherlock think that what they had just done was anything but right.

Tightening his grip on the other man, John deliberately sought out his friends gaze and did what was possibly the bravest thing he'd ever done... he beared his heart.

"Sherlock, just so there are no more misunderstandings here... I have to tell you that I am not only very much in love with you, but I rather urgently want to say fuck it all and take you to bed."

Sherlocks' eyes widened at his words and John was once again treated to watching the world's greatest detective blush like a schoolgirl.

"But as much as I want you, which by the way is rather a lot, we really do need to talk" he offered apologetically "because I've had these feelings for a very long time Sherlock... but up until about two minutes ago I had no idea that you even thought of me in that way?"

John stared into Sherlocks' eyes and waited for Sherlock to answer his unasked question. Knowing that the next few minutes were potentially going to be the some of the most life changing that he'd ever experience, John held the other mans gaze and waited expectantly.

Sherlock cleared his throat before answering; the obvious expression of nerves on his usually calm features going a long way to reassure John about his own worries.

"I suppose I must admit that... well... I have wanted this for what seems like forever John, but I had no hope that you could ever feel the same. And because of that I did my utmost best to hide how I felt" He confessed hesitantly, his expression pained.

"You were always so quick to counter any misunderstanding about the nature of our relationship and quite openly stated you were not gay, so of course, I chose to hide my true feelings rather than lose your friendship."

Sherlocks eyes darkened with some emotion that John couldn't begin to interpret, though the slight stiffening of his body told John that whatever it was that the other man was remembering, it wasn't pleasant.

"I had for most of my life believed I could live without sentiment; so it wasn't until Moriarty threatened your life on the roof of Bart's that I understood that what I felt for you was far past my control" he admitted looking down; his expression hidden behind the veil of his lashes.

"Of course I'd known since the pool incident that you were important to me," He swallowed nervously. "But I managed to convince myself that it was your worth to me as part of the work that made me fear your loss."

Sherlock's expression was rueful as his gaze rose to meet John's; before once again dropping to hide his expression.

"I deluded myself for quite a long time with that excuse, but the incident at Bart's and the confrontation with Moriarty changed all that."

Johns brow furrowed at Sherlocks' words; not really understanding his reference to Moriarty.

Then again, he'd been rather adamant about not wanting to know the details of Sherlocks' fake suicide; or the reasons behind it. In truth, he hadn't wanted to know the reasons that Sherlock had chosen to leave him behind so casually; hadn't wanted definitive proof that Sherlock hadn't cared enough to even think about how his actions might affect John.

He sighed inwardly.

He'd obviously missed something pretty damn important by being such a coward. Because it was now obvious that Sherlocks' feelings were far more involved that he could have guessed.

His hand slid up to cup Sherlocks' cheek and when the taller man tilted his head in to the touch and met his eye, he asked the question he should have asked long ago.

"Sherlock what happened at Bart's? What did Moriarty do to make you jump that day? I know you said you did it to protect us and I'm sorry I never asked you for the details, but I'm asking now?"

Sherlock hesitated and for a moment John thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Snipers John: three of them to be precise. One for each of the people that Moriarty deemed important to me." He offered bluntly.

"That day on the roof I had planned for every eventuality, except the one thing I could not anticipate. Moriarty killing himself ensured that there was no other way to be positive that the sniper trained on you could be neutralized. Even knowing that Mycroft had pinpointed the snipers, I still couldn't risk tripping Moriarty's kill switch."

He swallowed hard and licked his lips.

"The thought of losing you was insupportable, so I did what I had to do and jumped."

"God Sherlock...I"

Sherlock cut him off with the brush of his thumb across John's mouth.

"I have seldom been a frightened as I was that day watching you from that rooftop... and that is when I fully realized just how important you had become to me" he admitted; expression pained as his hand moved to cover the one still cupping his face.

"I love you John Watson and the thought of you not being in the world somewhere is simply unthinkable." His mouth turned down in a grimace, his expression apologetic as he continued.

"As you know I have often decried the sentiment inherent in most relationships, but it seems where you are concerned I find myself just as pathetic as any other lovesick fool. I now appreciate what it is to love someone to the extent that the others happiness becomes more important than your own".

Sherlocks eyes lowered and his voice hitched slightly as he continued.

"When I returned to London I understood that you would never return the feelings I had for you, but that hardly seemed of any import as I found myself simply grateful that you had after all my deception, allowed me to be in your life. If Mary could give you what I could not... then I was resolved to be happy for whatever remained."

He paused, seemingly lost in his memory of those times; the timbre of his voice deepening with his next words.

"John... I... I regret that I failed to deduce her in time to make her betrayal less perfidious." He offered apologetically. "But in my defence I felt that I had done you enough harm with my past deductions and subsequent decisions. If I failed to deduce her motives and actions, then I could not meddle... and consequently, you would then have what you deserved."

His lips quirked in a derisive but fleeting smile as his eyes rose to meet Johns.

"There was also the fact that if I did not see... then I would also be less inclined to sabotage the relationship for my own selfish desire to have you return to Baker Street" he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

"It honestly never occurred to me that you might feel more than friendship for me and I was for the most part content with that. I was understandably alarmed when you came here this evening and demanded that we talk. I thought you had finally deduced my feelings for you and were about to expel me from your life. Instead you have allowed me to kiss you and admitted to feelings that I barely believe possible. If I was a more fanciful man I would fear I was dreaming again and that I would wake to find you as far from me as I have always believed you to be."

Sherlock's expression was wondering and slightly bewildered as he continued to meet John's gaze. It was as if he was expecting John to be taken from him and couldn't understand how he was still holding him.

Johns' vision blurred and a lump formed in his throat at Sherlock's words.

He couldn't believe he'd been so blind. If he had asked more questions when Sherlock had first come back everything might have been different. Instead he'd let his rage and jealousy dictate his actions and used it as a deliberate wedge between them.  
And he certainly never would have married Mary if he'd known just what Sherlock felt for him. It might have taken him some time to forgive Sherlock, but he would have got there a bloody lot sooner than he did if he'd known the true reason why Sherlock jumped.

John felt a guilty sense of sorrow wash through him.

If he'd just been a better friend and less of a coward, both he and Sherlock would not be in the situation they were now in. If he'd put his hurt and pride aside sooner and actually talked to Sherlock about his actions on the roof of Bart's, there would have been no marriage and no Mary to shoot Sherlock.

Instead; he'd pushed Sherlock away and married a woman that he'd thought was safe. Denied feeling anything for Sherlock; diving head first into a marriage that he knew in his heart wasn't what he'd wanted; not since the night of Sherlock's return.

The man standing in front of him was all that John had wanted for years, but because of his own stupid prejudices' and misguided belief in Sherlock's inability to care for another person, he'd nearly lost him completely. And now his own wife was quite possibly carrying a child that may or may not be Sherlock's.

There was heavy regret in his heart as he met Sherlock's worried gaze, but there was also a huge amount of joy and relief that came with those thoughts.

Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson and that when it came down to it; it was quite possibly the best piece of news he'd ever received.

Making the impulsive decision to shelve any more questions for later along with his worry over the text he'd seen, he slid both hands to the back of Sherlocks' neck.

"God Sherlock..."he sighed. "We are both equally guilty of being clueless... and we are definitely going to have to talk about both your decision making and communication skills at some point; at which time I am very possibly going to yell quite a bit... but all that can wait."

He gently pulled the younger man's head down until their eyes were level.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes in every way there is, and if that makes me gay then I'm absolutely fine with it. Now I think you should take me to bed and let me show you every single fantasy I've ever had about that rather spectacular mouth of yours, yeah?"

Sherlocks' eyes widened again at Johns' words but the blaze of joy that lit his features was unmistakable.

"Yes please John... Let's do that." gasped Sherlock.

Taking Johns' hand firmly in his own he tugged him down the hall.

Pausing briefly in the entrance way he turned back and met John's smile with one of his own.

"Your room or mine?"

John felt his cock twitch at the expression on Sherlock's face.

"Yours is closer."

Sherlock grinned and practically dragged John through his bedroom doorway.

Johns head was spinning with the knowledge that he was about to experience something that he been sure he'd never have the privilege of knowing. He was going to have sex with Sherlock Holmes, something he never would have dreamt of before today. Sure he'd had fantasies; truth be told he's had some fairly intense wanks to said fantasies. But hot sweaty sex after the adrenalin of a case, was a far cry from declarations of love and the promise of actual real lovemaking. And yet even that familiar term doesn't seem to really encompass what they are about to do.

John had loved Sherlock for such a very long time; including the wanting part of that love; but he'd always been so sure that Sherlock didn't feel that way about anybody, let alone him. Now that this was happening it seemed somehow larger than just lovemaking. Like everything else with this impossibly brilliant man, this seemed better and more intense than anything he had ever experienced with anyone else.

Swallowing heavily, John let Sherlock lead him to his bed and when the taller man pulled him down he couldn't help but shake his head at the wonder of it.

Laying alongside the man he loved John marvelled at the emotion he could see in the detectives eyes. Never in his life could he remember anyone looking at him the way Sherlock was.  
Sherlocks pupils were huge with arousal and they seemed to devour John as if he might disappear at any moment. But it was the emotion that blazed from them that had John's throat tightening with the threat of tears.

Jesus! He must have been blind to have missed this. Maybe he really was as dim as Sherlock sometimes accused him of being.

Well fuck that. No more stupidity or missed chances for John Watson.  
And definitely no more holding back.  
He loved this man more than his own life, now it was time for him to prove it.


End file.
